


That Damn Bullet

by WhyDoesEverythingHappenSoMuch



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Discussion of Abortion, Embarrassed Steve Rogers, Eventual Smut???, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I can't blame him Natasha likes to tease him, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Natasha Romanov, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Pregnant Natasha Romanov, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, These tags are a train wreck (like my life), Unplanned Pregnancy, but nahhh I like to write pain, discussion of childhood trauma, everyone is just really fucked up, low-key inspired by Enders Shadow, she is not happy because duh, steve has old fashioned morals, they all just need love, this is just me throwing a fit at how pregnant Natasha is normally wrote
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-11-22 19:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11386884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDoesEverythingHappenSoMuch/pseuds/WhyDoesEverythingHappenSoMuch
Summary: It was just to inspect the gunshot wound, that red and swollen blemish that rested just above my left illia. It had been completely healed over for weeks now, and honestly I almost skipped this visit as I am not overly fond of the doctors.I had gone to the Shield clinic many times before. For anything like a cut lip, to the few times I had managed to injure my heart. But this? This was just supposed one of those cut lip days; It wasn't.This, in part, is me raging about how every other pregnancy fic with Natasha is too light hearted about it and never looks at the logistics of how traumatic it would be for her. Maybe it is just me, but I crave realism in characters in writing even with a fantastical plot, so mostly, I have written this to console myself.





	1. That damn wound

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, abortion is a very touchy subject and I had to write an argument on the subject, however this has no reflection my opinions. The outcome of the dispute should be taken as the outcome of this fictional situation. Happy (hopefully?) reading!

It was just to inspect the gunshot wound, that red and swollen blemish that rested just above my left illia. It had been completely healed over for weeks now, and honestly I almost skipped this visit as I am not overly fond of the doctors. However, I had gone to the Shield clinic many times before. For anything like a cut lip, to the few times I had managed to injure my heart. But this? This was just supposed one of those cut lip days; It wasn't.  
"What do you mean 'I'll need to be referred for further testing'?" The nurse didn't answer me. I huffed and grabbed the chart from him myself. He reached to attempt to grab it back but thought better of himself and dropped his hand. A picture of my X-ray I had had to get today just to check a bruised rib and to (again) be sure the bullet had not splintered any bone or left any floating around, rested on the smooth metal of the clip board. 

Upon closer inspection there was a small white smudge just under my abdomen. I must have shown some of my concern as the nurse quickly sputtered out,  
"You don't have any type of cancer Ms Romanoff. But before I can say anything for certain, an ultrasound." He sounded nervous so I relaxed my gaze and gave what I knew to be a reassuring look.   
He could use a lesson in bedside manor, I mean, who brings up cancer to a frightened patient?  
I mused to myself about the lanky nurses shortcomings, and soon I was laid flat on the examination table. I picked out shapes in the ceiling as the nurse swathed the transducer probe right over where the dot had appeared in the X-ray. He looked closely at the screen and gave an audible gasp. I pushed myself up on my fore arms.   
"What?"   
"Did you know Ms Romanoff?" His eyes wide in a mix of fear and, could it be, Awe?  
"Know what?”, I asked again. He just shook his head slowly, eyeing the monitor.  
I gave an exasperated sigh.  
“God dammit tell me! Do I have cancer" I said mocking his previous blunder? "Or has the bone traveled that far?" The second question I voiced in an air of legitimate concern.  
"No, no." He shook his head vigorously.  
"Standard procedure is that I say congratulations.   
Ms Romanoff, you're pregnant."

:::

I was silent. Then I laughed. 

"You've got to be wrong. I'm infertile, I know you can see the my whole womb on that screen, parts are just completely scared over. Even I know enough of medicine to know that a scarred Fallopian tube means no kids."

"Well then it turns out neither of us know much of anything about medicine." He continued to look dumbly at the screen as He called some other doctors. A few more came over all dressed in tight black shirts woven with silicone and organic-inorganic polymer thread as was standard in the clinic. All the doctors wore their hair short or up in tight buns for efficiency and cleanliness. They muttered softly though the masks that matched the material of their shirts.  
A few more decisions were made and soon I found myself hooked up to an anesthetic. 

When I awoke the doctor looked almost giddy. She calmly explained my... predicament.   
"Your womb while at the same time somehow supporting a child has quickly regenerated. Within a few days it will be as if the damage never occurred. Now I must ask you something personal-" She clicked her pen a few times, obviously preparing herself to ask the dreaded question.  
"Might as well, seeing as you just had your hand up my-" She cuts me off.  
"Oh yes, very well. Have you slept with captain Rogers?"   
Although a trained professional, I knew the women had spent time with Steve often, studying him and bandaging him up regularly, so I forgave the slight hesitation and rise in color.  
"Oh god no" I would have laughed again at the idea of America's golden boy having some part in this if not for how serious the situation was.  
"Okay then. Well somehow the sperm of Captain Rogers has gotten into your uterus. It's regenerative properties began at once, a property of his bodily fluids we were previously unaware of. From the state of things I would say two months ago the process began."  
I gaped at her. This whole situation was a nightmare. And suddenly my urge to laugh was replaced by a drive to hit something, hard.  
"How is that possible" I gritted out.  
"My womb was sliced up when I was 13, some just cut straight out of me. What’s left is just short of a giant scar left sitting inside me. The only reason they didn't remove the whole thing was that it would be an even bigger health risk than to just throw the web of broken flesh back together in the wrong position. There is no way it would magically fix itself."   
"No, not magic, science."   
She went into a lofty explanation of every technicality of how the bullet that had been shot through a particular sensitive part of him when he had dove to cover me on a simple retrieval mission in the tropics two months prior, had somehow lodged itself in my uterus. I didn't catch every word. 

The fact that a living thing was forming inside of me was horrifying. I wanted it gone. Now.  
"When can I have it removed?"   
She gaped at me.   
"Excuse me?" She looked incredulously at me, back at her charts, then back to me.  
"You, you realize how special this child-?" I cut her sputtering off abruptly.   
"It's not a child, not yet at least." An eyebrow was raised at my statement.   
"The fetus," she continued more carefully. "could be the last thing we need to figure out how to reproduce the super serum. We can't just let that go without at least talking it over, no?" She looked at me hopefully.   
Anger suddenly replaced my numbness at her statement. How dare she tell me to be the petri dish in which she grew her experiment. Did she realize I would have to quit my job? The job that I trained for my whole life? Did she even think for a second that I couldn't raise a child even if I wanted to? Children need love, care, at least one parent who isn't risking their life everyday. The child would live their days in a lab for testing, never have a life nor freedom; they would be alone. Alone and at the disposal of those who wanted to use their body to make money and trade secrets. The more I thought, the more I realized the kid would live like I did.

I remembered every day I would go to bed; handcuffed to the headboard, praying that I would die from the cold, die from the meager scoops of old porridge that we lived off of, die from the dirty water, anything. Anything but live one more day. Days full of physical labor and needles and horrifying surgical procedures. 

I felt my heart rate rise, my face start to tingle and suddenly I couldn't see straight. I panicked, never once had I been on the verge of an attack around anyone but Clint.

Blinking hard and willing the memories away, I said no more. But I decided then and there that I would not have this baby. I decided that I, in fact, detested it for it's existence, although a part of me still couldn't wish it the life I had lived. I feel the only way I could have born the child was if I hated it so much as an ounce more. 

The doctor talked my ear off for a few more minutes.   
I tried to will away the baby.   
I tried to wake up.

-"and you should probably tell Steve Rodgers of this before you make your decision."   
The single sentence was enough to bring forth the wave of animosity.

"While I so greatly value your judgment as a doctor, I don't need your high and mighty opinion beyond that. No matter who knows, I'll be aborting the pregnancy. Examine the fetus all you want." I looked expectantly at the doctor. 

"I can not operate on you today, as if the fetus is going to be useful in a scientific way, you will have to carry the baby for at least a month or two more. Please take tonight at least to think over your decision as you may still be in shock. You are dismissed Agent Romanoff." 

With that, I left the med wing as quickly as I could keeping my eyes firmly glued to the floor. I fled to the gym to try and work off steam. Secretly, I hoped to jostle the fetus into non-existence. 

:::

Clint I told first. I knew no matter what I would decide I could trust him not to flip out. Or maybe I was just postponing having to talk to Steve. Either way, there I sat beside Clint on a table in a shield conference room.   
He looked surprised, but kept quiet and let me talk.   
"I won't be keeping it. You know that," I expanded, "you know me."   
He placed a hand on my knee.   
"It's your body, and no matter what, I’m here for you Nat."   
I felt the tension I didn't even know I had been holding in every string of my being melt away. I could breath again.  
"And yes, I do know you, but don't think that who they made you out to be has to continue being you."   
"Yeah, I know" my words came out softly. And for a few calm minutes we sat silently in the darkening conference room. I relished the serenity of it all.  
"Is it hard for you to say you're okay with what I'm doing? You have children-"  
"Yes I have children, but my wife wanted them. They were wished for, and god are they blessings. But if at any time my wife didn't want to go through with it, I would have supported her, because I love and respect her. Plus who am I to judge the hardships of pregnancy." He gave a small smile and took hold of my hand.

"However," this caught my attention. "You should tell him. He has a right to know."

I exhaled heavily. 

"Yeah," a sad smile, a glance toward our joined hands, and a deep breath "I know."

:::

Its around four am when I arrived outside his window via fire escape. It's not cold, yet I shiver. I placed a hand against the window, then I stopped. What am I supposed to say? 'Oh by the way I'm pregnant with your kid, and I'm definitely not keeping it'   
that would be cruel, this whole thing is cruel. I mean, I'm not one to get attached easily but I knew this would pain him.

Until I met Steve, Clint was my only anchor. I can’t do this to him… 

Clint, Clint was wrong. How much easier would it be just to leave, get it removed, and go on with life like normal. 

But deep down I knew that wasn't true, I couldn't bring myself to lie to Steve, the same way I couldn't bring myself to lie to Clint. Steve, as ridiculous as his righteousness and all-American ideals were, was one of the 2 people in the world I trusted. 

It is around 5 when I finally force myself to open the window and slink into Steve's apartment.

It's dark accepting the flickering light from the television.   
I walked closer to the couch before taking a breath and letting my footsteps become audible. By the time I've reached the sofa he is awake. 

"Hey Nat." He yawns and tries to no avail to shove his hair into place.   
"What's up? Something wrong?" He is moving to the kitchen area where he would normally pull out a stash of snacks he kept around for my surprise visits. 

I clear my throat.   
"You might want to sit back down."   
He looks skeptically at me and sits at the table. I join him.  
"Look, I'm not going to soften it or sugar coat it." A steadying breath "I'll tell you flat out. I'm pregnant with your child."

Silence. 

His hand tangles in his hair a few times, and his gaze is immediately shifted to the floor.

"Natasha, explain." 

I explained.   
"I can't keep it, you know I can't."   
He looked up to the ceiling, then at me.   
"Natasha, you know I respect you. But this isn't just your baby." I grimaced at the word 'baby' it wasn't even a human yet.   
"Think of me. I- my life, that is to say- the way I grew up.. and I know it's different today but..." 

of course. Captain America of 1900's morales could never condone this.   
I should have left when I could have. I didn't want to hurt him. 

"And I know the child is in your body, but..." he hung his head and twisted his hands in his lap.  
"And you say that it was that bullet I took for you?"   
I nodded then realized he couldn't see my face.   
"Yeah." I say suddenly fascinated by anything in the room that wasn't him.

He was taking deep breaths. 

"Steve, I-" I reached for him.  
He laughed quietly, sadly.   
"You're the one who just found out they're pregnant, I should be comforting you."  
I shook my head, “god no, It's 5am and i've just dropped this on you.”

 

Even the small vase of daisies that sat between us seemed to flinch at the topic.

"Why would you want to k- abort the child." This time he saw me tense at the word.  
"It's not a child, it's just a blob of flesh right now. More akin to a parasite than a human."   
He looked down again.

"I know I'm not carrying it, but please-" he begged; His words slow and yearning in the most painful way.  
"Steve I can't. You know I can't. My career, my life, it would all be ruined. The kid would spend every day in the lab, you know how they are with superhumans." I took a breath, trying to give him time to ingest my words. I added quietly "You really wanna condemn a child to a life like that?"   
"Still a life." He weakly replies.   
"No, less than that. The kid would never know freedom. Hell, they would be the center of all the media, that would put them at risk enough. I think you're forgetting our line of work, someone wants to harm us, they aim for the kid, and-" I stop, he won't meet my eyes. 

 

I sigh; new tactic.

"Listen, I know you don't like to think about it, but I fuck people for information. That's just how I work. Already the fact that your 'magic semen' fixed my uterus is threatening my profession." He grimaced.   
"This work is basically what my whole life has built up to, I won't let some stupid little mistake of a bundle of cells and fluid ruin everything I've worked for." At this he snaps his head up.   
"You can be so selfish" he sounds so hurt, like a wounded animal; like a broken heart. 

"I'm selfish? It's my body."   
"You would be dead if I hadn't-"  
"You didn't have to-"  
"Yes I did, it's part of the job Natasha!"  
"I never even wanted for you to be on that mission! So how can you say that it was the job?"  
"You goddamn think I was going to just stand by and-"   
"Maybe that's what I wanted?"  
"No one wants to die"  
"You don't know what I've been through"  
"I do, I've see the files."

We fall silent for a second.   
Steve steadies himself with a breath.   
"The point is, yes it's a mistake, but please, for once put someone else ahead of yourself! I risked everything when I jumped-"

"Well I never asked for it!"   
I finally shout. My voice rings clear in the silence of the day break.  
"I never asked to be taken in by shield, I never asked to meet you, I never asked to trust you, I-" my voice is a perfect contradiction to his eyes.   
Eyes full of uncertainty and rage, well maybe not perfect opposites, there is sadness there too. 

"I need to go Steve." I begin to turn from him. He grabs my arm and it's just short of bone crushing.   
"No."   
I turn to him and harden my expression.   
"I can't let you do this Natasha. Five months, please."   
"I didn't come here to make deals or to bargain. I just couldn't bring myself to lie to you, why can't that be enough? I wanted that to be enough." The last sentence is quiet and I can feel the iron-like fist loosen around my forearm.   
"I know that even telling me was hard, but please, five months and they can remove and put the baby in cryo." He could see he wasn't convincing me and his tone grew panicked.   
"You would have nothing to do with the baby after that, I promise." 

I don't believe I'd ever admit to anyone, but the look he gave me was what broke my resolve. I pride myself in my reason, but then; in the dim kitchen, the birthing sun playing off the dust particles wandering the space, and the heavy silence of the sweet hours before the world awakens, I lost all sight of that reason I hold so dear.

"Okay."  
His eyes flash a brilliant blue.   
"Okay? Okay what?"  
"Okay I'll live my personal version of hell for you."   
"Nat, I- thank you. Thank you, thank you" the worlds spill out of him softly and I can see how he strains to keep himself still.   
I walk forward and carefully place my forehead on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat quicken.   
"I'm scared Steve, really scared, I haven't been scared since Russia."  
He hesitantly wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head. 

"I promise it'll be okay."  
"You'll be okay."


	2. That Damn Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha talks extensively about wanting to abort the pregnancy by any means, and I see how that could be upsetting to some. There are mentions of eating disorders and of panic attacks so don't read if that puts you at any type of risk.

That very same day, at a considerably more reasonable hour, I walk into that godforsaken clinic. The doctors who now all knew my case watched me carefully, always looking away when I glanced back at them.  
I sit quietly, picking at my nails and filling in charts until I hear my name called.  
A nauseating feeling pulls at my gut, I label the feeling shame.  
I explain Steve’s Idea to the same man who had begged me to keep the little parasite and it stung like defeat. He grins at me and for a second I almost change my mind for the sake of pride, keyword, almost.  
He is overjoyed, ecstatic, euphoric. He begins preparation of cryo tubes, alerts staff, and launches into what I assumed was a lecture; I don't hear a word of it.  
I’m numb.  
:::

The term 'domestic bliss' has never sat well with me, it would be like saying 'wet fire' or 'dry water', in that, it would be completely idiotic. However, now I realize it's more like describing hell as beautiful. I have been grounded, about a week ago, which means thanks to Steve's increasingly infuriating pre-parental panic, I have been confined to my loft. I have since refused to talk to him only increasing the number of times he visited in a day.   
I am not accustomed to feeling pent up, and I knew the switch of less than 5 hours of sleep a week to hardly moving a limb all day wasn't doing me any good, still, he would show up with movies and snacks, he even brought me flowers once. Those Azaleas sat on the coffee table; They had begun to wither. I could tell he was trying to undo the damage, but I still refused to speak with him.

And this afternoon was no different, He had brought a movie and begged me to watch with him; I gave in. 

“Still not going to talk to me Nat?” he asked as I sat down as far away from him as possible.   
I shook my head and focused my eyes on the TV. He again questioned me, and I again remained silent.  
I was certain he didn't pay attention to the movie, even for a single scene. I could feel his apologetic gaze, and eventually it won over; I looked to him. The second my eyes met his he launched into questions and apologies.  
“I don't want to lose you Nat, and I know you're angry, and you have every right to-”  
I slide over to rest my head on him, hoping the gesture would calm him.   
I could feel his frantic heartbeat and his comfortable warmth, along with the almost unnoticeable sigh of relief.  
He didn't question me any further, opting to instead run hesitant fingers through my hair. 

Later that evening we got cheap takeout, and some sense of normalcy was regained.

:::

About 2 weeks later, I began forcing Steve to spar with me. In the hope that the sense of lethargy would leave if I returned to what I do best.

He had just come back from getting groceries, and it was obvious he was letting me win. He would through sloppy punches and I would catch every single one and flip him by the wrist.   
"Steve it's only fun if you try."  
“I am-”  
I sweep his leg out from under him.  
“No, you are not trying.”,I sigh and walk back a few paces. He stands up again and brushes himself off, “I just don't want to hurt you or-”  
Again, I ground him before he can end the sentence. I press my foot gently to his face, “I don't think you want to finish that sentence.”  
He gives a weak ‘sorry’ and I give him a hand up. I throw off my gloves, put away some cans, and begin digging through the cabinets. 

He appeared behind me grabbing two mugs and placing them beside me before he grabbed 2 tea bags. I was about to ask how he has always seemed to read my mind, but when I look up he had rounded the corner to the bathroom. 

As I made the tea I tried hard not to think about the little thing stealing my energy, I got 8 hours of sleep for god sakes yet I was still dead tired after the smallest exertion. I need caffeine more than ever but Steve practically throws a fit whenever I mention it, claiming that ‘the doctor’ (read: his secret stash of parenting books) say that caffeine is ‘detrimental to the fetus’   
So here I am stuck with herbal tea and honey.

I let my mind wander and listen to the calm hum of the shower as I boil the water. I reach for the tea bags when suddenly, I feel movement. Horrendous, gut wrenching, panic attack-inducing, movement. I still and I feel my breath become shallow and fast. That mistake, that parasite, moved. It felt all too familiar to hands under my skin, to surgery, to the red room. My throat tightens and I think I start to shake because everything I was holding ends up on the floor. I see it all again; the blood, the surgical masks. I feel it again too, The hands grouping just below my flesh, I taste bile and I hope that is a memory too. I can't tell what's a memory. I'm on the floor and I can’t feel from my neck down, I know they have paralyzed me, but I can see everything. I can't wake up, I can’t get up, I'm trapped, I’m stuck here, I’m not safe. I feel hands grab my forearms I do everything I can to fight back, I scream and kick, and- Steve. And suddenly i'm back in the kitchen. Nothing has moved, I've dropped nothing, kicked nothing.   
“Are you oka-” he tries to rest a hand on my face but I push past him, walk to the bathroom and throw up.

I sit on the ground hugging my legs. I hear Steve knock on the door, taps like gun fire.   
“Nat?” he calls softly, “can I come in.”   
I don't answer him. He opens the door anyway.  
“I've been fine for so long, I haven't had an attack that bad since I was 18.” I whisper as he takes a seat next to me on the cool tile.  
“I can’t do this Steve, I can’t.” He pulls me to him and rubs small circles into my back.   
“I used to get them too,” He begins “about the war and about bucky.”   
Everything he tells me I've heard before or picked up on, but I listen and let his words lull my heart rate. 

I call Clint that night and tell him everything.

:::

Three times more that week I have an attack, and soon I find myself back at the damn clinic explaining my episodes. Steve accompanies me this time and keeps me sane. They address most of the information to Steve as I think they can tell I’ve zoned out  
Pills and papers in hand, we leave the clinic. I dole out glares as we walk together back to the car.   
“You can see it can’t you.” I ask as we drive. I had noticed how his eyes had lingered on my midsection during our previous gym trip and the vague sense of discomfort had stuck with me.  
“Hmm?”  
“See a bump.” I clarify, “I saw it this morning, I’m gaining weight too” I add. We turn onto my street.  
“Well, that's what the doctors said would happen, that means you're healthy.”   
We don't talk until we reach my flat. I hang up my punching bag and he makes dinner, and for awhile i'm comfortable, and the baby hardly moves. We eat and soon he says goodbye.   
Once the door closes I race to the bathroom and force myself to throw up. It stings like hell but it's familiar in its own right. It wasn't about image, although in the distant past it had been, but now it was about much more than that. I knew if I ate badly the fetus would die, and I could wake up from this nightmare. I sit on the bathroom floor and hear the praise of Ivan.

“Very good Natalia, you will get nowhere if you are not beautiful” He grips my shoulders tight and pulls my hair back for me. “Again,” He shoves his own fingers down my throat, “no man will want you if you are not pretty, and if no man wants you, you can kill no man.” 

I should feel disgust and hatred for that man, but I was 11 and I still see so many of the memories in the light of an orphaned little girl. An orphan who was called beautiful for the first time, and who believed the red room program was for her own good.

This persists for around four more days.

It was day 5 and I had gotten sloppy. Steve had just closed the door, and I assumed he was gone. I walked to the bathroom and shoved my fingers down my throat, puked, then heard knocking. He had forgotten his keys.

“Natasha, are you okay.” A shiver ran through my whole body, god, he was going to kill me for this.  
I try to clean up as quickly as possible, then I open the door.  
“Its nothing-”  
“Please don't tell me you always do this once I leave.” His voice is quiet but sharp.  
“Then I won’t tell you.” I try push past him but he won't let me go.  
“God Natasha are you trying to kill yourself?” He asks with panic in his eyes.  
“Maybe” I shrug and again try to leave the room  
“It’s not just your own life you are putting on the line here!” He cups my face in an attempt to draw my eyes from his feet.  
“I know!” I shoot back at him shaking his hand away.  
“Then how could you?” He questions, His face the picture of disappointment and hurt.  
“It just happened okay? It’s nothing.”  
“Nothing? Nothing? You could have killed the baby if you continued to do that.”  
“You think that's not what I wanted to do?!” My voice rings against the title of the walls.  
I expect a slap, yelling, even him just leaving me; what I didn't expect was an embrace.  
I breathe in the sent of him and revel in the feeling of pure worry and compassion in the face of the hurricane of my mallicion.  
“We’ll get through this, I’ll get you through this.” His whispers into my hair.  
“I don't know if I want to” I breath into his chest. 

I have a second dose of pills to take now.


	3. That Damn Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, so some people actually read this? That's pretty cool.

When I awake my room is full of flowers and Steve stands there awkwardly. 

“So, everyone at work asked where you are... so I said you were sick, and.. This happened.”  
I look around at all the colorful plants that just screamed life and I laughed to think only a week ago I tried to starve the fetus. I was genuinely amused by my morbidity, then, suddenly, I was crying. Not sobs,but definite tears. Steve was at my side instantly.  
“Hey,” he tilted my chin up to meet his eyes “Hey,” he smoothed my hair gently. “What’s wrong”  
“I never got to leave flowers.” I stop to try to steady myself but fail. Why this outburst now? That had happened years ago, I hadn’t even cried then alone on the street at dusk. Yet here I am choked-up in a brightly lit room with every luxury.  
“Leave them where?” Steve asks trying desperately to follow my train of thought. I could see in his face he was just as confused about this little out burst as I was.  
“At my parents grave, I never got to. I even stole a buque once, but, but I” I realize the change from light tears to full on weeping yet I am powerless to stop it. I continue anyway.  
“I couldn't find them, I never found where they buried them. I'm not even sure they were buried, God, what if they just left the bodies on the street? The flowers just died, and I threw them in the river.”  
He hummed in condolence and held me while I continued to mutter that I had no idea why I was crying. I had been given flowers before, given flowers before and not once had I been this affected by the notion. Steve's azaleas from only last week hadn't had any impact on me.  
Once my mind quieted I realized why I had the outburst: hormones. I hated the notion, why would my body turn on me like that? A body that had been honed to perfection by countless combatants and trainers, this body that, until now, had been my weapon. I knew the cause, but often the question is less painful than the answer.  
The day went on like normal. Sparing, meals, Tv, and tea.  
“Would you like me to stay tonight?” He asked carefully as I moved through the kitchen to wash the mugs. I know why he wants to stay, he still doesn't trust me to take my meds and I think he worries about my nightmares.  
“If you’d like, you're welcome to. my bed is certainly large enough.”  
He rubs the back of his neck and takes a step back, “no, no, I’m fine sleeping on the couch.”  
I sigh exasperatedly at his old fashioned attitude.  
“Come on, It’ll be your job to keep the nightmares away.” I grin.

That night I dreamt of my mother.

:::  
While things may have appeared to be all bad, Those days were peppered with Plenty of Normalcies, that is to say, walks in the park, tea house visits, Steve practically pulling me away from unassuming congratulating women. Questions of “When are you due?” and “Any names in mind?” plagued me, every word was like a fresh layer of grime to peal off when I arrived back home with Steve. There was one women in particular I had grown to be was wary off, she was tall, slender, and had a calculating eye about her. This women was the most insistent, actually seeking me out whenever we were around the park. She went so far as to ask to feel the baby. I, at that point, had turned and walked away leaving Steve to apologize in my name and then run after me.

“She’s odd Steve. I think she recognizes us.” I mutter as we cross the street.  
“Nat, people are just excited on your behalf, people are always like that around pregnant women.”  
“No… something is weird about her.”  
“You say that about everyone Nat.”  
“Even so, the audacity ‘Can I feel the baby’, who the hell does she think she is?” He rests his hand on my waist, and it feels so natural, we walk on. 

We went home after that, as Steve could see that I was done with people for the day. He apologized the whole walk and offered a homemade dinner and a bath. I raised my eyebrows at the second offer and he flushed. It had been a topic of discussion weeks prior, I had tried in vain to get Steve to assist in things like washing my back, not only for the fun of teasing him, but because some tasks were actually becoming quite difficult. I had consulted the doctor about the fact that I was getting so large at hardly four months. He shrugged it off as super-serum induced.

The more I thought it over, the more pleasant the idea of Steve washing my hair seemed to be. I was unsure if that was the back pains speaking or not, but either way after cardio and dinner, I sat in the tub, hands placed delicately and strategically to hopefully ease Mr. 1900’s moral scruples.

He was the picture off awkwardness and unease as he sat beside the tub.  
“Steve, don’t tell me you have never seen a naked women.” I teased lightly  
He stays silent. He pushes on my back slightly and I take that as a signal to lean forward. It was strange to be exposed but not feel the heat of men and women’s eyes and hunger that always followed. It was, in a word, freeing.

“Steve, you were in the army you must have seen some kind of porn magazine?”  
He sighed exasperatedly, “No, Nat, you are not the first women I’ve seen undressed.”  
“And how do I compare?” I tilted my head back, making eye contact.  
He smiled, “I’ve seen…”  
“Worse?” I smirk  
“Better.” He laughs softly while I gape at him, and also at the fact that Steve retained some wit despite our situation.

We fall silent after a “Tony never hears of this” and a “Pepper probably already knows”.  
My eyes wander the walls of the room and I fight the urge to sigh when he works his hands through my hair. I closed my eyes and found myself in that hotel with Clint when he had performed the same service as Steve did now, however, Clint had only cleaned blood, while Steve now dealt with my emotional wounds. 

Clint, undoubtedly, had the easier job.

I can see the yellow light and red tinged water, I was lulled into a feeling of safety that night, something that I very sparingly encountered. The feeling of security of that night had returned to an extent, so when he pressed down on the nape of my neck with his thumbs I didn’t stop the board-line moan. His hands stilled for a moment and I heard him resettle himself on his knees before he continued. Perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed to always end back at the spot with soft hands and dull nails. Maybe an additional sigh or two escapes but I pride myself in not once arching my back, when he scrapes my collarbone ‘accidently’ I’m almost certain he is testing me.

I hear him choke when I stand and I hold back laughter at the boyishness of it. 

I extend an arm and wait for him to hand me a towel. I toy with the idea of turning to face him, but I settle for fiddling with my hair a bit while I know he tries his hardest to keep his eyes on the floor. I turn my head in impatience for the towel. I catch his eyes run down my spine. He hands me the the towel, and the practically sprints out of the room. I dry off and walk back to my room, I can see steve in the kitchen from the loft as I dress.  
“Steve, will you brush my hair too?”  
“I hardly doubt you struggle with that Nat” He calls from down stairs.  
“Please?” I hear him sigh and walk to the stairs. I smile to myself and wait at the edge of my bed. He sets to work on my hair.  
“So, how has work been” I ask while I play with my hands.  
“Nothing much, I've mostly been stuck doing file drops.” He works from my ends up and I wonder if he has done this before, I ask.  
“Yes, I used to comb my mother’s hair when she was too weak.” He takes a breath.  
“What happened to her?”  
“She died, Of tuberculosis. Sometimes her chest hurt so much she couldn’t even reach for the brush. She couldn't wash her hair much so it was always long and tangled, sometimes it took me hours” He cleared his throat. “I remember one sunday, it was raining so I stayed home ,because I used to catch cold easily, and I went to brush her hair and clumps just fell out…”  
He falls quiet and continues with my hair but I can feel that the strokes have lightened up as if he is scared he'll break me too.  
“Losing a mother is hard, I’m sorry Steve.” I say into the quiet. I look to the blinking red light of my alarm clock it's 10 and the sky has gone dark.

He finishes brushing my hair and places the brush on my nightstand.  
“Do you have work tomorrow?” I ask tentatively as he stands.  
“Nothing I can’t be late for.” he smiles and I think he anticipates my question.  
“Stay the night?”  
He lets out this small nervous laugh. Of course Steve seems to think I'm asking for something more than just presents of something that grounds me. "Just to keep me... grounded." I'm sure he knows by 'grounded' I mean not a danger to myself; and by extent of myself, the baby. :::  
The rain starts at midnight and the thunder at one am. Steve sits at the foot of the bed breathing heavily. 

“Hey, what's wrong” I move to sit beside him.  
“Sorry to wake you” he says to the floor. “I can’t sleep with thunder, It reminds me of the barracks.”  
I sigh, slide to sit beside him and lay my head on his shoulder, “yeah, I can’t deal with lightning because it reminds me of the shock treatments.”  
He gives me a questioning look so I elaborate, “It was part of learning to hold our tounges under tortue, they treated it like it was a game. One instructor would give us a phrase, then a second would try to torture us into giving away our phrase, I always lasted longest so eventually they electrocuted me.” I give a tight lipped smile.  
We wait out the storm exchanging stories and comforting words and I think ‘this is what home should be.’

The first time I had thought something this, it was about Clint. I had broken a rib, and he had held me for the first time. I cried. It was the first time I felt safe and happy as the result of the touch of a man, no, a person. Right then I realised how long it had been. I told him he was my home. I told him that I loved him and he smiled at me. I had tried to kiss him, but he simply guided my lips to his cheek. “You can love me” He said , “but only like that, okay?” I had only smiled wider. I remain forever grateful for that night. I feel that was when I learned the different shades of love. That was the first day love didn't equal tragedy or sex.  
I thought Clint was the only person in the world who could truly be home, but Steve always did have a talent of proving me wrong.  
We do sleep again, and when I wake again, this time it's to the smell of breakfast.  
:::


	4. That Damn Women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I have studied French for quite awhile, I did use the assistance of translation sites, however if there are any issues with the French, I'd be more than happy to fix them.

Two weeks until it's over and things can go back to normal, I itch to slip into my uniform feel the weight of a loaded gun again. We go for an evening walk and I can’t shake a sense of unease as we wander through the lamp lit streets. Talk is idle and we end up on the topic of Agent Hill who apparently would talk as if I was present, addressing questions to me. She would have to correct herself, often to the amusement of Toney.  
Rounding the corner I swear I see that same lady, Her expanse of spine curled in a hope to lessen her stature.  
“Steve, what languages do you speak?” He quirks an eyebrow at the change of topic.  
“French? I mean it's not completely fluent but,”  
“Quelqu'un nous suit” ‘we are being watched’ I lower my voice, but maintain a placid expression.  
I'm sure he saw the women too as he answers “Ce n'est pas un crime d'aller dans les lieux publics” It's not a crime to go to public places. “I'm sure she just lives around here, Vous êtes juste paranoïaque” You are just paranoid. He tries to continue on, but I grab his arm. “Reprenons” Let's turn back. He gives up and lets out an exasperated sigh but when we turn the women is in front of us. I fought the instinct to throw a jab. 

“Je suis désolé, nous devons partir maintenant” I faine a polite and delicate wave to the women, and lean into steve. He takes the hint and places an arm over my shoulder.  
“Oh my, I must have frightened you, very sorry, desole” The women amends, her voice surprisingly smooth despite the fact that she smelled like smoke. I identified the traces of a faint russian accent. I knew there was not a large russian population in this part of the city, hence my suspicion grew. I throw on a french accent and play the part of a tourist. 

“The city lights are very beautiful, no?” I smile and look around the street in fake amazement while in reality I am taking the opportunity to scan for movement and find possible escapes.  
“It is for our honeymoon that we visit. My husband wanted to see Russia,but it is too cold for me” I continue. I watch her for signs of a reaction to the mention of Russia. I get my reaction. A small narrowing of they eyes and a slight break in eye contact confirms my suspicions that she has a connection.  
“You look very familiar, Do you live around here?” I push my luck, if she is a spy or stalker she will by now know that I have her figured out.  
“Yes, only a few blocks away.-” Lie “Sorry if I came off as stalkerish-” testing my english abilities to discern the credibility of the act of tourist “It's just I lost a child only a few months ago.” Truth?  
“Oh gosh, that came out abruptly.” she places a hand over her mouth.  
“You see I had an accident soon after conceiving and I can’t bring myself to try for a child again.” She looks genuine but the ‘small accident’ was left specifically vague which did sit funny with me. The wording suggests she is trying to downplay something? Yes… if it was something normal she most-likely would have warned another pregnant women. So that crosses out food related incidents or chemical exposure. Along with that it would be no normal injury, say a fall, as she would have explained. Before she begins her next sentence I have the cause figured out; violence. Whether domestic or not I intend to find out.  
A congratulation and a handshake later I was alone with steve again.  
“She lied a majority of the time.” I inform Steve as we continue to walk.  
“Natasha please, not everyone is out to get you, she is mourning a child give her a break.” He sounds pissed at me. I don’t she why, pregnant or not, mourning or not, the reality was that in this world everyone is out to get us.  
“I get you want to sympathize with her, but you need to remember who you are, you don't have the luxury of things like trusting.” He stops walking and I prepare for some star-spangled-lecture.  
“And you need to remember you are human, it won't hurt you to feel sorry for someone every now and again.” I cross my arms.  
“Sure I feel sorry for her, but i'm just skeptical as to how she miscarried, it would have had to be violence related, which means she was around dangerous people, and then that means that even talking to her was a risk.” I turn to keep walking but he won't budge.  
“If it was violence it means we should have helped her! Don’t you want to help people?”  
“I'm afraid you might be in the wrong business for that.”  
We spend the rest of the walk in silence which gives me time to think. He drops me off at the door and I walk the fight of stairs alone. 

I didn't stop thinking of the women for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was short, But I feel this belongs in one chapter rather than with the next.


	5. That Damn Name

Two weeks until it's over and things can go back to normal, I itch to slip into my uniform feel the weight of a loaded gun again. We go for an evening walk and I can’t shake a sense of unease as we wander through the lamp lit streets. Talk is idle and we end up on the topic of Agent Hill who apparently would talk as if I was present, addressing questions to me. She would have to correct herself, often to the amusement of Toney.   
Rounding the corner I swear I see that same lady, Her expanse of spine curled in a hope to lessen her stature.  
“Steve, what languages do you speak?” He quirks an eyebrow at the change of topic.  
“French? I mean it's not completely fluent but,”  
“Quelqu'un nous suit” ‘we are being watched’ I lower my voice, but maintain a placid expression.  
I'm sure he saw the women too as he answers “Ce n'est pas un crime d'aller dans les lieux publics” It's not a crime to go to public places. “I'm sure she just lives around here, Vous êtes juste paranoïaque” You are just paranoid. He tries to continue on, but I grab his arm. “Reprenons” Let's turn back. He gives up and lets out an exasperated sigh but when we turn the women is in front of us. I fought the instinct to throw a jab. 

“Je suis désolé, nous devons partir maintenant” I faine a polite and delicate wave to the women, and lean into steve. He takes the hint and places an arm over my shoulder.  
“Oh my, I must have frightened you, very sorry, desole” The women amends, her voice surprisingly smooth despite the fact that she smelled like smoke. I identified the traces of a faint russian accent. I knew there was not a large russian population in this part of the city, hence my suspicion grew. I throw on a french accent and play the part of a tourist. 

“The city lights are very beautiful, no?” I smile and look around the street in fake amazement while in reality I am taking the opportunity to scan for movement and find possible escapes.  
“It is for our honeymoon that we visit. My husband wanted to see Russia,but it is too cold for me” I continue. I watch her for signs of a reaction to the mention of Russia. I get my reaction. A small narrowing of they eyes and a slight break in eye contact confirms my suspicions that she has a connection.  
“You look very familiar, Do you live around here?” I push my luck, if she is a spy or stalker she will by now know that I have her figured out.  
“Yes, only a few blocks away.-” Lie “Sorry if I came off as stalkerish-” testing my english abilities to discern the credibility of the act of tourist “It's just I lost a child only a few months ago.” Truth?  
“Oh gosh, that came out abruptly.” she places a hand over her mouth.   
“You see I had an accident soon after conceiving and I can’t bring myself to try for a child again.” She looks genuine but the ‘small accident’ was left specifically vague which did sit funny with me. The wording suggests she is trying to downplay something? Yes… if it was something normal she most-likely would have warned another pregnant women. So that crosses out food related incidents or chemical exposure. Along with that it would be no normal injury, say a fall, as she would have explained. Before she begins her next sentence I have the cause figured out; violence. Whether domestic or not I intend to find out.  
A congratulation and a handshake later I was alone with steve again.  
“She lied a majority of the time.” I inform Steve as we continue to walk.  
“Natasha please, not everyone is out to get you, she is mourning a child give her a break.” He sounds pissed at me. I don’t she why, pregnant or not, mourning or not, the reality was that in this world everyone is out to get us.   
“I get you want to sympathize with her, but you need to remember who you are, you don't have the luxury of things like trusting.” He stops walking and I prepare for some star-spangled-lecture.   
“And you need to remember you are human, it won't hurt you to feel sorry for someone every now and again.” I cross my arms.  
“Sure I feel sorry for her, but i'm just skeptical as to how she miscarried, it would have had to be violence related, which means she was around dangerous people, and then that means that even talking to her was a risk.” I turn to keep walking but he won't budge.  
“If it was violence it means we should have helped her! Don’t you want to help people?”  
“I'm afraid you might be in the wrong business for that.”  
We spend the rest of the walk in silence which gives me time to think. He drops me off at the door and I walk the fight of stairs alone. 

I didn't stop thinking of the women for the rest of the night.  
:::

It's the last week and I’m elated, I can just about taste freedom. Even a kick or two from the baby doesn't phase me like it once did. I hum while I make lunch and pull out my phone to put on some music. I see a text from Steve.

I've got work today, see you for dinner? From 8am.  
It’s paperwork, he called me in for paperwork?! Will rant more later From 9:27  
You okay Nat? You are normally up by now… From 10:30

In truth, I had been ignoring my phone; favoring Netflix and my punching bag. Turns out crappy flicks and a workout made a surprisingly good match, and a good distraction. 

After I eat I finally text Steve back. I wonder how badly I have worried him, maybe I should have gotten back to him earlier… Hopefully he won't suspect that I've killed myself, Shit, He probably thinks I killed myself. I opt to call and apologize knowing the worry I have caused. The phone barely rings once before he picks up.   
“Thank god Nat, I thought-”  
“No, I know what that would do to you, I wouldn’t.” I lowered my tone. “I care about you, and you care about the baby.”  
“And I care about you Nat.” I smile to myself at his words.  
“So about dinner, I’d rather stay in, but you should come over.”  
“This isn’t about-” he begins   
“You know it’s about her, I don't want to put us in harms way if I don't have to.”  
We agree to Steve getting takeout and hang up.  
:::  
“So, um, names?” Steve questions as we sit cross legged on the floor in front of the Tv, the blue lights of the screen mixing with the yellow from the kitchen.   
“Names?” I echo.  
“I mean, are there any names that mean something to you? For the baby?” I must look physically unnerved at that because Steve rushes to cover up his question.   
“- Not that I expected you to, I just thought Id ask-”  
“Anya” I cut him off. He appears genuinely surprised at the fact I did have an opinion in the matter.  
“That was the name of a girl I knew while training. She gave me food once, she was kind.” I can't seem to refocus my eyes on the Tv.  
“Did she-” I anticipate his question.   
“Before I tell you about her, promise the name will be an option?”  
“I promise” I exhale and resettle myself on the ground.

“She and I were very close,” I recount “-on days I wasn’t allowed food she would share with me. We had our beds next to each other too. When we could hear gunshots or screaming she would always grab my hand and even once picked the lock on her wrist so she could lay with me when it stormed.” 

I have to stop for a moment because I can feel the closing my throat and a sting behind my eyes. Steve had seen me cry once, he would not see it again.  
“She was scared of everything Steve, and I was the only person she felt safe around. So when she was chosen as my opponent in the weekly assessment, she trusted me to go easy on her. She even smiled at me before we began…” I again have to pause to control myself, I curse myself for my weakness.

“She was losing and the headmaster gave me the signal, and I, I-” I cant bring myself to say it, and it's ridiculous because I remember wearing that story with pride, as a badge of my obedience and ruthlessness.

“I killed her.”

I leave out the details of how I killed her; strangulation, or how I was rewarded; being given her rations that night as congradulations.  
The silence begs to be broken.”I just- I think I owe it to her. But I won’t blame you if you want to go back on the promise, I mean anyway that's only if it's a girl, that was stupid.”  
“No, No, I get it. And I never go back on my word.” He gives me that smile and I curl up with my head on his thigh.  
“You think about her a lot?” he asks, I almost don’t hear him over the television.   
“Yeah. I do.”  
“And if it's a boy?”  
“Anything but Ivan.” he doesn't ask for an explanation and I am grateful.  
:::


	6. Damn Nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I just realized I forgot to post like an entire chapter.. oops? Well its here now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Comments, Comments, I live for them, so if you have anything to say, please say it! (But if it's criticism make it specific so I can actually fix the issue.)

:::

This is a bit against protocol, actually, this very against protocol. In no clinic in the county do they leave the fetus in the same goddamn room as the mother. That's just, not right. I don’t want to see that, I would do anything to unsee it, so why the hell do I look over to the incubator?  
It’s small and a sickening shade of purple, and to my horrification, almost human. Little blue throbbing veins pepper the wrinkled skin of it's face. The thin hands grasp vaguely at a wire, and that sends a nurse running. When she sees my bleary, but very conscious gaze, She regards me with a look of poorly disguised panic before she looks at screens directly above my bed.  
“You should still be under…” She mutters to herself as she frantically flips through a stack of papers.  
“Oh. Ohh…” She concludes dumbly.  
“The anesthesiologist must not have known… ” And I am suddenly very angry, they had drugged me incorrectly? I could have woken up during the operation, and then- then it would be the ‘graduation ceremony’ all over again. Hands under my skin, my blood stuck under some faceless nurses’ fingernails, being pinned down; fear, and hopelessness...  
“How did you manage to fuck up a surgery as simple as this?” I grit out as I attempt to prop myself up on my forearms. That was a mistake, angry pangs of blinding pain shoot through me; but I don't show it, I have a nurse to scare.  
“It seems that the baby was larger than the average fetus at 5 months, they must have not been made aware-”  
“So, you are saying, that due to my doctor's negligence on a subject that I had discussed with him extensively previously, I could have woken up or the baby could have died?”  
The nurse vaguely nods her head and tries to gives a small tight lipped smile.  
“I assure you this is the last time Doctor Vasiliev will be trusted with patient information.” She tries to amend.  
“Vasiliev? That's not the name of my doctor, don’t tell me you've managed to screw that up too.” I groan and drop back onto the bed.  
“And for fucks sake, get the kid out of here.” The nurse says something I don't quite catch as I try to sink back into unconsciousness.  
Although I wouldn’t admit it to myself, I wondered if the baby had been in pain, had they had screwed up the painkillers. I should feel more, feel anything but this idle yeah-I-could-have-died-but-why-should-I-care emptiness, I try to force myself to worry. Still nothing. And yup, This is why I could, no should, never have a child. God, they did a service when they serialized me.  
I wonder where Steve is, I wonder if they will tell him that his kid could have died… or been in pain. I wish I could feel like he does, yet here I sit and I can’t even bring myself to glance at the baby for maybe the last time as they wheel the incubator out, and down the hall. I just pretend to sleep, with my eyes screwed shut against the fluorescent lights and the faint smell of antiseptic.  
:::

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Steve practically runs up to me as I enter the waiting room. He has his arm over my shoulders within seconds.  
“I’m…” Numb? Alone? Possibly the worst potential mother? “Fine” I conclude. And for once, Steve belives my lie.  
“Did they let you see her?” He questions nonchalantly as he finishes a few forums.  
Her. A girl. I didn't ask. I was there with her and I didn't even ask, just told them to take her away. There are so many things I should have told him, at least I could have explained how she almost died… How I felt nothing, how I desperately wanted to feel something…  
“Yeah, I saw her” and I didn't cry or smile, is that okay?  
“And?” he questions.  
“She was…” Too human? Too alien? Too real? “Small.”  
“Well, most babies are” He almost smiles. “Anya is healthy too.”  
My chest tightens. “Oh, you, picked that name” And suddenly, I’m not feeling nothing. Anya, Steve’s daughter Anya. I blink and for a moment I’m 11 and scared and Anya calms me, I’m 12 and starving and Anya feeds me, I’m 13 and cold so Anya holds me, She is 13 and trusts me so she smiles. I'm feeling everything for a moment and its overwhelming but it borders on beautiful. I open my eyes.  
“Thank you.” I smile, and I expect that he will need me to elaborate, but like always he seems to read my mind, or maybe he sees it in the reflection of the tears that threaten to make themselves known.  
“I always keep my word.”  
:::


	7. Damn Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda filler stuff... but it is just to show how Natasha is back to normal life and work and the like.

:::

Maybe a week had passed and it was like nothing had happened. The moment I walked back into Shield headquarters I was drowned in paperwork and that wednesday I had stopped and international scandal and caused a new one on friday (A certain guard for a certain affluent organization had a thing for redheads.) But during all that work not once had been on a mission with Steve.  
My first thought was that he was still taking a break from the field, but the more a I thought about it, the more I knew it had to be Fury’s idea. Steve was borderline obsessed with my safety, there is no way he would ever willingly keep away.  
It was that same afternoon that I burst into Fury’s office.  
“May I ask why you have been purposely keeping agent Rogers away from me? We both know that you splitting us up is not only making missions more strenuous but also worrying the staff and putting me on edge, and myself being on edge means, well I means that I’m on edge” I pause for a breath. “I want answers.”  
He looks up at me languidly.  
“Because Romanoff I run the damn show, I make the rules.”  
“A shit explanation” I mutter just loud enough for him to question if I had actually spoken.  
He gave a dramatic and exasperated sigh. “Fine. I'm keeping you two apart because now you put each other in danger.”  
“Excuse me?” I scoff. “If you think i'm any less fit to work you can shove that-”  
“That's not what I’m saying damnit! Look. If anyone wants to hurt Steve, hurt him.. Emotionally, they will come for you.”  
I try to speak up but he just raises a hand and I again fall silent.  
“I don't care if you do or don't screw with Rogers, fact is, the criminal world thinks you do. Do you understand what i'm trying to prevent here? Not even to mention the baby, with the both of your genetics? Some would level cities for access to that kid…” He trails off and looks at me.  
“You make sure rodgers leaves the damn kid frozen until I've at least doubled the size of the security team.” he sounds annoyed, well… mostly annoyed; I catch a hint of concern.I just faintly nod and leave the office. 

“Romanoff?” I hear a familiar voice call from down the window lined hall. The familiarly obnoxious voice calls me again. I turn to see Tony pacing a few steps behind me. He lets his thumbs stick out of his pockets while he saunters in front of me, the picture of feigned arrogance. 

“Back to work so soon? It’s only been 5 months, don't they take normally take 9?”  
To say I was a bit startled would be an understatement. I was under the impression that Steve had informed everyone that I was gravely ill, so how the hell would Tony know?

“You look confused... you didn't actually think I believed Steve's ‘Natasha will be sick for 5 months and I'm the only one who can see her sorry for her mysterious disappearance’ bullshit did you?” He laughs and I reach to shove him. He gets this panicked Please-God-I’m-Sorry look on his face as he pivots just out of reach. He throws his hands in front of his face.  
“Tell me how you know”, I sighed and he dropped his arms.  
“I have been know to hack medical records?” He offers shrugging and giving me a tight lipped smile. I flick him on the bridge of the nose.

“Ow, uncalled for!”  
“Not really, you dug through my classifed medical flies” I start walking again, “has no one taught you about patient confidentiality?”  
“Not yet.” He winks at a nurse who happens to pass us. She blushes and I roll my eyes.  
“Is that the one from last week?” I ask loudly “Or are nurses just you type.” The woman makes a disgusted sound and walks on.  
“Damn Romanoff!” He whines.  
“Just doing Pepper’s work for her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this last chapter, but more than anything, I love to hear from the people who actually find what I wrote to be interesting enough to have gotten this far. So please, leave a comment if you've got anything at all to say! Thanks!


	8. Damn Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look I actually got around to writing more! Again, If you have anything to say, comments are very appreciated!

“I ran into Tony today, are you not at work this week?” I ask over the phone. I was enjoying a shot or two (or three or four…) while I watched the sunset from the sofa.  
“Yeah, I took the week off, some new recruit got himself arrested so Fury sent me to bail him out on behalf of shield, and turns out the guy has gotten himself kicked out… So, I took him in.”

I scoff, “seriously? This is how many stupid kids you've fostered now?” This is nothing new for him, he has a bit of a reputation as the dad of every new agent, if they have gotten themselves in trouble, he has no qualms about taking them in, no questions asked.  
He laughs. “He would be number 8, and really Nat, most of them are good people, they just have, well, they have interesting pasts. And you know that I don't believe that a person’s history defines them.” 

I hum in agreement. That line was something he had often told me during my introduction to Shield.

I hear a door open from somewhere over line.  
“Oh, that would be him-” He tries to muffle the phone but it sounds like he says something along the lines of dinner plans. I sigh and lament the lack of Steve’s cooking (or even his dropping by with takeout) and get up to search for some subsistence.   
“Hey, it’s my turn to make dinner, I can call you back after we eat if you… if you have anything you need to vent about.” He tries to lighten the last words with a small breathy laugh, it doesn't work.

I get the feeling that ‘vent’ means ‘try-to-ascertain-whether-or-not-Natasha-has- postpartum-depression.’ I take another shot I let my head fall back onto the arm rest. “Fucking psycho analytics” I mutter into the silence of my apartment.

I do end up finding food, but I lose my appetite at the sight of it. I want to sleep, but I can’t, and I want to do something other than reacquaint myself with the fog of drunkenness, but I can't think of anything else to do.  
Halfway to blissful sleep on a high of blurry eyesight and a burning throat, Clint calls again. I pick up.  
“I know I said after dinner but I just got busy and…”  
“S’kay.” I mutter rubbing my eyes.  
“You sure you're ‘okay’” He asks. I hear the sound of keys over the phone.  
“I'm fine, if you actually come here at 1am I will skin you.”  
He sighs and I hear him sit, “so, what calls for alcohol tonight?” 

He asks. I'm sick of everyone always being so worried about me. Is it a crime to get tipsy in your own home on a friday night? My whole life is under constant scrutiny; I'm pretty sure I'm more stable than they give me credit for.   
“Told you already, saw Tony at work, that is reason enough for drink.” I throw an arm over my eyes and fling myself off the sofa and resettle myself on the soft rug.

“Please Nastasha, be real with me. I know when you need to talk, now is one of those times.” He pleads.   
“Well you're the one who went to some fancy-ass college, you tell me what's wrong with me.”  
“I only went for a week before I almost had my cover bl-”  
“Shut it trust fund kid.”   
He honest to god snorts, “I live on a farm.”  
“To be fair, it's a damn good farm.” we both laugh and eventually fall silent. 

“Really, are you okay.”  
“Um.. I guess.”   
“It’s a yes or no question Natasha. are you okay? Yes or no.”  
I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes, “it's not a yes.”  
He says nothing. I know his tactic, stay silent and force the other to fill that silence, I might as well, I've got no reason to lie.

“Well, I’m just wondering if putting this kid out into the world was a mistake… I-”   
Clint cuts me off, “Fury talked to you.” It's not a question, he sounds pissed.   
“Yes, he did.” I think about how certain he seemed I wish I could remain that detached but somewhere between seeing Anya and now, the hate I felt had transformed into a thinly veiled concern.  
“I mean I knew from the beginning that Anya existing would put myself and Steve in danger… but it seems she is inconveniencing everyone.” I exhale. “It's just I'm in this weird in between stage of regret and attachment.”  
Clint makes a contemplative sound, “Well, that's not unnatural, especially in such… such unusual circumstances. Have you talked to Steve about it?”

“Ugh! That's the other issue. He won't talk to me outside of work, and Fury is working his hardest to keep us off of the same team. Won't even give us similar paper work… and I get he thinks he is ‘protecting me’ but since when do I need protection? On top of that, Anya is technically not even born yet! I can't help but wonder what ‘inconveniences’ I’ll be subject to later...”

“You never know… I don't agree with him, but I'm sure he has his reasons.”

“Leave it to you to side with authority..” That was a bit of a backhanded comment and I don't really mean it, but foggy vision, stress, and postpartum can do that to a person; make them say things they don't mean. I continue without an apology. “If Fury was so opposed, why couldn't he have told me sooner, you know, when I could have done something about it.” I fall silent for a moment. “I mean, it would be classified as murder now.”

At the thought of her death I don't feel the rush of adrenaline and longing and power that I had labeled normal when I was carrying her. Instead a feeling of sick dread settles in the pit of my stomach. To say I was surprised by my feelings would be an understatement.  
:::


	9. Damn parameters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so so sorry I haven't written in like forever and that this update is incredibly short, but I was away for 2 weeks and school is starting again very soon, so I'll try my hardest, I promise I have a plan for this story :)

‘I saw her again.’ Sent 12:30pm  
‘She followed me for around an hour so I was forced into a coffee shop for cover’ Sent 1:10pm  
‘It's good coffee, join me??’ Sent 1:20pm  
‘Not talking to me?’ Sent 2:30  
‘Did Fury tell you not to?’ Sent 3:00  
‘I am technically the mother of your child, answer me!’ Sent 5:00pm

If complaining to Fury and Clint didn't work to get things changed, I went to the next best person.   
“Hey Maria.” If anyone had sway over fury it was Agent Hill.  
“Natasha.” She greats but neglects to look up at me, I assume her work is important as most people don't have the nerve to deny me… then again, she isn't most people.  
“Has Fury been telling Steve not to talk to me?”  
She continues typing. “Yes”  
I exhale heavily. “Any idea why?”   
“Security.”  
Fan-fucking-tastic! Does the whole of shield know? ‘Probably’ I think to myself.  
“You know we aren't..” I make a few vague hand gestures trying to decide exactly what we are.   
“Aren’t screwing?” she fills in for me.   
“Yeah.” I give a brief nod. “And I mean I know you guys think you are protecting me, I mean even the fact you think I need that-” I talk a breath. “All i’m saying is I know things around here are less efficient now, I think you should ask Fury to reconsider.


	10. Damn Radio Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is an unreliable narrator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have, after 500 million years, wrote more. I have, however, not edited this because I am tired and have no one to edit my work, enjoy this angst.

Things did not stay calm. I get a call at three am, I don't bolt out of bed. I'm not even in bed, I kind of pick myself up the floor, limbs still slow as a result of my drinking. The habit having seeped it's way back into my life… I reach for the phone. The call is from Fury, the words we exchange are short and clipped. The conversation lasts less than a minute. 

The drive to Shield headquarters is silent save for the light slap of rain against the road. When I arrived I immediately make quick work of setting up the alert program Tony had been so kind to download onto all of our respective devices. My ‘emergency call list’ was short and consisted of a few field agents as well as the whole of the Avengers team. I update both the ‘start time’ and predicted end time of my excursion. 

While fury had not said anything about my outing being partially dangerous, the whole happening could have been to prompt this reaction from furry and pull me into the open. I am nothing if not prepared. I slide an extra sheathed dagger into the waistband of my pants.

I walk silently through the halls of the building. It is eerie in the dark, and the lack of new trainees yelling over the shuffling hum of the rest of the force puts me on edge. 

The binding fluorescence of the stairwell are jarring and the ringing in my ears grows louder, at any moment I feel like a bomb might rip its way through the walls. The silence feels like the quiet before the storm. 

I work my way up to Fury's office.   
Rounding the last corner, I hear steps that are not my own. I take a breath then step out from behind the corner into the hall at full speed, run straight at the person and give a single kick to their chest.  
Then comes a familiar voice, from below me; more specifically from under my foot.   
“Natasha!” Steve pauses to cough and prod the spot my foot had made a connection with his rib cage. “I haven't seen you in a month and the first thing you do is try to break my ribcage?” he laughs, then winces, I assume from the pain in his chest.

“Don't act like you missed me, you were the one who didn't pick up the phone.” It just sort of slips out of my mouth. Maybe I meant it as a joke, but as my words sit in the air I realize I've hit a nerve. Oh, Who am I kidding, I did want a rise out of him, or at least an explanation for the month of radio silence. 

“I was… busy Nat.”  
“Busy? For a month?” I frown, but still, extend my hand to help him up.  
“I've- Look I've been looking for- trying to find a surrogate. Surrogate mother” He rushes out in one breath.  
I furrow my brow. “Why would that mean we couldn't work together? Fury has been feeding me this bullshit about how we endanger each other.”  
Steve won't meet my eyes and instead picks at his nails for a moment before sighing and looking back up at me. He gives me this infuriating tight-lipped smile that just dug itself under my skin. Oh, oh.   
“You asked Fury for this?” it's not really a question. I can't pull from his stupid face the reason why he did so. I take a step closer and watch little micro expressions of fear flit across his face.  
“You asked Fury to keep me here stuck with paperwork and menial clearance level 4 shit for over a month while you are running your own operations and you don't even have the fucking decency to tell me why? Not even when I actually made the effort to reach out to you? You know- you know I don't do that. God Steve! Everything you do just ruins the only thing I've- the only thing I know. Just everything you do is so-” I have to stop and unclench my fist.   
“Nat, I just-”  
“Don't call me Nat right now,” I say clipped and short.   
“Natasha. For you, Anya doesn't… isn't part of your life anymore. For me, Anya is a constant and I-”  
I cut him off. “Don't tell me Anya isn't part of my life. In case you don't remember carrying her was beyond-” I steady my voice again. “It was traumatic. Her existence is traumatic and I wish I could agree with you that she isn't part of me still, but I can not fully move on after that.” My throat is tight.  
“Nat- Nattasha, what I'm trying to say is that- is she -and you” he stops and meets my eyes with confidence for the first time. “Anya has red hair.”  
“Oh, so you're trying to separate the idea of her and me?” I say searching his eyes, why I feel betrayed? I don't know. But I do know what I am feeling is angry.   
“Don't you dare separate her existence from mine. I am not her ‘mother’, and I don't want to be, but you can not separate me from my d-”   
“Natasha, this isn't about separating you. I just can't watch you falling apart while I try and make some sort of life for her.”  
“Fall apart? I'm fine, I've always been this way.” My anger fades in my confusion.  
He sighs and rubs his temple before continuing.  
“You've been drinking Natasha. Skipping medical exams. Ignoring all but 3 people in your life. You may not see it, but Fury and I do, you are falling apart, and-” it's his turn to be choked up. “I'm sorry I was the cause, but I need you to understand that for me I can't watch you like this. Not if you won't let me help you.” He reaches out a slow and tentative hand to me. I let his hand hang for a moment before I take it. He pulls me in slowly until I rest my ear on his heart and breath him in in short ragged breaths.

He places his chin on my head and murmurs into my hair, “You smell like cheap vodka”  
“It was expensive shit, Rodgers.” I press my pouting words into his chest.  
“I thought you had just left me. It scared me” I say, following my previous comment. He doesn't answer, but he tightens his arms a bit.

“Id thank you for the Greek tragedy performed in my hallway, but we have business to attend”   
We step apart and I gave a 2 fingered salute to a tired looking Fury at the other end of the hall.


	11. That Damn Meeting

We sat in front of Fury’s desk like deviant school children. The relief that this truly was a meeting called by Fury and not some elaborate plan to pull me out of my house alone flooded through me, something still sat tight in the back of my throat. 

Fury passed the room, he was silent as he did so, I took the moment to muse over tonight revelations, I wasn’t sure if I had forgiven Steve. 

I knew better than to rush him or ask for the information without the impending speech, Steve did not. 

“Fury, you’ve called us for a reason. What’s happened?”

I looked over at Rodgers and gave him a look. He furrowed his brows at me and tilted his head a little. I hoped my eyes read ‘you don’t interrupt the pacing’

Fury cleared his throat and eyed the two of us.   
“I have some bad news and some good news, however the bad new voids the good news, so I won't asked which you’d rather hear first.”  
Fury sits behind his desk and before he even turns the screen to us, I know it has to do with Anya. Everything in my life seems to have to do with Anya. 

The video is grainy and green-tinged, obviously filmed at night, and judging by its placement it's a shitty security camera. 

We watch a blurred figure walk into a small room and he begins digging through some cabinets. A jar falls to the ground and shatters, the person yells, a low voice, so, our criminal is male. 

He is on the floor frantically trying to pick something up. He looks up again, sees something else in the cabinet and immediately forgets the broken jar. He bags it and is out of the room.

Fury turns the screen back to himself. 

“What that man stole was your and Rodgers fetus.” 

Steve just stares straight ahead unblinking. That's fine with me I have questions enough.   
“We are all in agreement about how powerful that child could be, Right? Then who in their right mind would leave that room unguarded? I mean, no security system? No alarms? I mean even the quality of that camera if that was the only way to keep surveillance in the room you could have at least gotten one with night vision? I mean you could have asked Tony for a system! He’d have set it up in a day” I shake my head I'm getting off topic. “fuck!” I'm fuming by the last line. Fury just looks at me with a vague disinterest.

“The footage was from a camera made by Stark.” I turn to look at fury again.   
“Excuse me? That footage was shit and there was no time stamp, stark maybe lazy but-”

“But” Fury catches the end of my sentence. “The camera was practically invisible, it's thinner than a piece of paper and translucent, so forgive it for the ‘shit footage’.” Fury repeats my wording back at me. 

He stands and comes to lean against his desk. “It was a last resort, in case the rest of the cameras were taken out.”   
“So you're saying…” I begin slowly  
“-Whoever did this managed to take out all the cameras and security in the building.” Steve finishes my sentence for me.  
“Yes, that alone is a threatening enough, and now they may hold the key to figuring out the super soldier serum.” Steve makes a face at Fury’s words.

“Is that all Anya is to you?” he says quietly.  
“What did you say, Rodgers?” Fury questions. I sigh. I've already fought this fight with Steve, and he always wins.

“I asked if Anya is only the key to a serum to you, or are you forgetting that is my daughter.”   
“Captain Rogers, sentimentality isn't going to bring this kid back, stop fighting me over minutia”  
“I wasn't ‘fighting’ you.” Steve sits up a little bit straighter in his chair. Shit, if Steve punches Fury… well actually I have no idea how that would go down, but I didn't intend to find out.  
“Hey, minutia nor fighting nor sentimentality is going to get her back. What's our game plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! The comments keep me alive, so if you have anything to say (or ask! I love love love questions) hit up the comments section!


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